


Boom Boom

by StrawberrySugarFox



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Cannibalism, Fluff, Househusband, Human AU, M/M, humanbin, radiodust - Freeform, the couple that kills together stays together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21629530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberrySugarFox/pseuds/StrawberrySugarFox
Summary: Originally a songfic, Angelo and Alastor live as a domestic married couple in 1945.They led as normal a life you could- what with their diet choices- until an uninvited guest arrives.Possibly eventual smut.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 372





	1. Chapter 1

Angelo buzzed around the kitchen, eagerly preparing dinner for his loving husband. It was unconventional, but he was in a red and white polka dotted dress and a cute little apron, the radio up and buzzing out his favorite radio show.

Of course, that show was his husbands!

The crackling voice read out the reports of the day, Angel listening on to every word that came through, typically meant for entertaining bored men coming home from work.

"Today, another report came in of the Deermen slaughtering another victim by the name of Kenneth Marius. My condolences to the family. To those just tuning in, the Deermen are two to three people, suspected to be two men and a woman, who are known for hunting and gutting their victims like deer hunters. Police urge that you stay indoors during the evening, and be careful this hunting season."

A warm smile fell on Angelos face as he opened the back door, throwing some of last nights scrap to his prize pig in the pen. Fat Nuggets scarfed down the remains. He snickered to himself over the fact one of the 'three' deermen had to read the report, while the other two was just one man in a dress. Angelo and Alastor lived on one of the few farms left in Lafayette, least that they knew of. Waltzing back into the kitchen, he washed the blood off his hands, the questionable meat he was cooking looking like it was goldening up nicely. Alastor will love it, he thought to himself.

Alastor and Angelo met in New York about four years ago, in 1938. Angelo had been sleeping in the streets, a young twenty-year-old man, in womens clothing. He would make money performing for closeted men, only to spend it on drugs. Alastor had been vacationing, gone up to New York to enjoy some quality theater. After getting caught in one of Angelos more public- and dangerous- shows, the two talked the night away over drinks, until the stars turned red and the sky was navy blue. 

They unofficially married last year, Alastors mother herself performing the ceremony. The only of Angels family to attend was his sister Molly, and his mother. He didn't mind any, his family nothing but no good murdering bastards in the name of God. Yes, Angelo killed with his husband, but not in the name of the Lord. The mothers both got along well, trading Cajun recipes for Italian, and enjoying each others company. The few friends they had where there, a small little ceremony. Angelos happiest day.

The tall, blonde mans mind switched from the memories of his wedding to the memory of his childhood to the drum of the radio static as the familliar voice rang out his favorite words: stay tuned for your next hosts evening show! I'd love to stay around, but the missus is waiting!

Every day, the show was signed off with that. Such perfect timing, as it seemed dinner was done! Pulling out the slab of meat, cut like beef, he placed it on top of the oven to cool down before his lover came home. It was risky, the life they lived. Angelos crossdressing, mixed with displaying affection so openly in their home, there was no where else for them then a small farm in the city of new oil. Made even riskier by Alastors public job, it didn't help that Angelo wasn't even a legal citizen. However, that little fact made it easier for Alastor to hide their love, legally. Angelo didn't exist, and as far as record showed, Alastor lived alone, and did shopping himself. 

And, well. The one time a cop came knocking, The Deermen where created.

His thoughts were disturbed by the door opening, the tall brunette hanging his red hat and matching jacket on the hangers, brown pressed pants and suspenders over a pressed white shirt remaining. Mama DiMarco taught Angelo to never burn a shirt and he took that practice into his homelife.

"I'm home, darling!" he beamed, crossing the white and black tiled floor to where Angelo was facing the counter, using a cooking brush to coat the meat with a sauce, He wrapped his arms around his loves waist, resting his head on the shorter mans blonde head, closing his eyes contently. "That smells marvelous, mon cher."

The shorter man smiled a true smile, proudly nuzzling into the mans neck. "Just like mama used to make, but with different meat of course." 

"You spoil me, my favorite type of animal to eat from?"

"Nothing else but the best, mi amor."

Angelo turned and kissed the taller man quickly, but lovingly, as he ducked under his arm with the tray of meat held tightly in his hands. Setting it down on the table center, he busied himself with setting the table. Alastor tried to help, Angelo quickly dismissing that. 

"No no, you've worked all day. Sit, my love. Rest."

Alastors light laughter danced around the kitchen, as he leaned against the counter.

"I sat in a booth all day, let me help dear."

Angelo pouted a small bit, setting down plates on the dark oak table. Nothing in the house showed any signs of two murdering cannibals living there, the walls a pretty red and black stripe wallpaper, and the floor a black and white tile. The wall trimming was dark oak like the table, everything in the house was matched and coordinated. 

"If you're so persistant, you can pick the wine for tonights meal then. Arrosto umano goes well with red wines." 

Alastor opened up the wine cabinent, taking two ornate glasses off the holder and setting them on the counter, eyeing a bottle and selecting it. 

Soon enough, the table was set and dinner was served. And life was good, for tonight. Lost in each others eyes, they forgot a world where their love was illegal. All that existed was their voices, their love, and their hands held close over the dinner table, wedding rings sparkling in the light.


	2. Peering Eyes Make For Disgusting Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, learn to close the drapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heavy gore and homophobia warning!  
> as well, to adjust for inflation, $10 is equal to $157.80, so Alastor b a rich boi bribing
> 
> I'm so sorry this took so long!

Angelo strolled into the radio station with strong confidence, masking the fear he felt as he entered his husbands workplace. It wasn't too large, and only factored two employees. Quite strange, for such a successful music station, but Alastors own belief was that you shouldn't flaunt your success. He owned the station, after the previous owner left it in his will to him. The owner had gotten suspicious of Alastor and his lack of a wife, but the ring he wore on his finger. 

Lucky for Alastor, he didn't have time to change his will. 

The receptionist was nice enough, a short young woman who minded her business, so long as you mind yours. A small radio sat on her desk, broadcasting Alastors radio show softly. She knew well enough that Angelo and Alastor were married, and was kind enough to wish them well on their anniversary last year. She had a fair amount of pinups on her desk, framed neatly. Angelo always suspected she liked them for more than the fashion in them. 

"Angelo! Welcome welcome! He's on-air right now, but will break soon enough!!" She always spoke excitedly, like a kid on too much pop. He smiled at her, holding up the paper bag he had been carrying. "No worries! I just wanted to bring him some of last night's leftovers! Thank you, by the way, for calling me last week." He said the last sentence in earnest, the concerned receptionist having called to alert the doting man to alert him that Alastor hadn't been eating lunch for weeks. Between juggling owning the station, being program director, _and_ announcer, he was simply too stressed and too busy to remember to bring lunch with him in the mornings, or go out to get anything. 

The receptionist, Natalie, waved her hand at him and smiled "Oh it was no bother, I worry about his health! Such a lovely boss, gotta make sure the missus knows about him!" 

Natalie wasn't daft by any means, and Angelo smiled fondly at his alias, both on-air and in-station, being "The Missus". She stood from her desk and softly cracked open the door to the recording area, miming to the broadcasting man his husband was here. Angelo heard, over the radio on Natalie's desk, Alastor close off his segment with "And now I bring you to our board operators' favorite tunes. Always remember to thank our dear Husker for bringing our show to each and every one of you, and enjoy!" followed by the On-Air sign being switched off. Alastor came out of the recording room and pulled Angelo into a hug, kissing his cheek. 

Natalie, ever diligent, had closed the curtains as soon as she had come back into the lobby.

Unfortunately, she hadn't acted fast enough. One lone man saw the couple embrace, and watched in horror as the favored radio host placed his lips on another mans cheek. Angrily, the man burst into the station, and pointed an accusatory finger to Alastor. Angelo felt his world crumble as the words flew from the mans mouth, threats of turning the two in for homosexuality. He tasted metal, eyes frantically switching from Alastor to the man screaming in the studio, panicking. Words began falling from his own mouth, pleading to him in Italian. In his manic state, he completely forgot how to speak English, only picking up bits and pieces of Alastors calm words. 

To the native speaker, Alastors words made very little sense. He spoke calmly, and with authority. A side of Alastor that Natalie hadn't seen- no one had, but Angelo and Husker. It was the side that killed coldly, seeing humans as nothing more but game, a hunter with a target. 

"Now, my friend. Let's not be rash. Please, I invite you to my home tonight. Let us talk over dinner and wine, and talk of _compensation_ of keeping this secret. We're both civilized men, lets settle this properly." he spoke kindly, as Natalie fanned Angelo, who looked as if he was going to faint. 

"What kind of sinner do you think I am?! I would never go into no fags house!" he was red in the face, his fuming anger unmatching to the false warmth of Alastors smile. "Good sir, I'm sure you are just as godly as I. Though, I never seen you at church on sunday? Tell me, do you perhaps go so far as to travel out of town to a new chapel? Or perhaps is the discoloration on your ring finger from wearing a wedding band only around the missus. Good sir, you seem to sin more then I do."

The fuming man relaxed his shoulders, taking a deep breath. "Alright, you gots a keen eye an' fancy talkin. You right, but so what if I get a lil dirty when the missus ain't around? Least I'm horsin around with Gods given gals!" 

"Is it so God given to lie to your wife? Please, good sir, I welcome you to just sit down with us, and enjoy a warm meal. I'm sure I can... catch your attention." he pulled a folded stack from his pocket, pulling a new $10 bill to the man. He was wide eyed as he took it, shoving it into his pocket. He looked aside and mumbled out a soft "I guess I can give it a shot..."

Angelo went home with specific instructions to not use the 'good' meat, but to make a decent meal for the guest. Alastor had told Angelo his plan in private, having Husker keep an eye on the man, as Alastor continued his broadcast. 

Angelo had the radio playing as he excitedly cooked his food for his lover and guest, listening as Alastor droned on about something or other. He pulled his lasagna out of the oven, as once again his lover uttered the best line of the broadcast.

_"And now, for me to sign off. Me and the Missus have a dinner guest to accommodate! Good Day and Good Evening to you all!"_

He uncorked a bottle of wine, pouring three glasses and setting them next to plates already set on a deep red table cloth, the hue complimenting the trim of the walls. It was quite the class scene, Angelo thought. Oh how his mother would be proud of such a meal, he poured his heart into it. A proper meal for his husband and guest.

Soon enough, Alastor waltzed into the house, his guest not far behind him. He hung his hat and coat, leading the guest to do the same. His voice rang through the home, "Angelo, I'm home! I see you've gone ahead and set the table!" 

Angelo ducked in from the kitchen side door, wiping his hands on his apron. He didn't wear a dress today, just a normal mans casual white button-up and black slacks, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. As he spoke, the guest noted how thick his Italian accent was.

"Oh, sorry dear! I was just feeding Nuggets, he's getting so large!" he beamed with pride over the pig, a gift from his mother on his wedding day. He had raised Fat Nuggets from infancy.

"You datin a fuckin wop? Tch, can't even be a class act homo-"

Alastor cut him off with a cheery tone "Now! Let us all sit down for the lovely dinner you've made us, Angelo!" He pulled a chair open for his guest to sit in, the aura almost a little too cheery to be natural. The guest wondered if all homosexuals were like this, just really pleasant people. He thought back to his parents, how they always seemed to have an air of indifference to each other. He thought to his own wife, who barely even tolerated him anymore, and grew angry at the thought these two men had the love he always wanted for himself.

He sat down, and the dinner started. He hated how delicious the meal was, and how fine the wine was. He hated this bit of luxury that these sinners felt, and his anger piled until he sat there holding a fork, listening to the couple make pleasant conversation. Angelo spoke softly to the guest. 

"Are you alright, vittima? Do you not like the meal? I can cook something else if you like-" his words where cut short by the _scrrrrrk_ of the chair shrieking across the floor and tumbling down as the guest stood and pointed his fork towards the two. 

"Why... why do you two filthy fucking sinners get to be happy? Get blessed with love and joy?! When us God following folk are trapped in unloving marriages!" He yelled, and Alastor calmly stood up. He sighed and walked over to the kitchen counter, opening a drawer. Angelo sighed, and rested his head on his fist. 

"Shame, I thought we could get a more pleasant conversation in before I had more work to do." The white-clad man seemed only mildly annoyed, his tired frown twisting into a malicious smile. The guest turned his eyes from Alastor, aiming his shaking fork at the now terrifyingly happy looking man. 

"What... What the _fuck_ do you mean?!" his voice trembled slightly, as the cock of a gun got his attention. He turned on his heel toward the sound, only for the barrel of a Smith & Wesson Model 10 to press against his forehead. 

Alastor had the sickest smile he had ever seen on his face. His eyes were full of joy like a kid on Christmas.

"I do not appreciate you threatening my husband like that." His voice was full of excitement, and the guest's fork clattered to the ground. He shook now, and was left speechless.

"Now, it is unfortunate that your little wife will be left unawares of your little excursion today. Deermen prefer to not like to leave a trace." 

And with that his eyes went huge, and as his mouth opened to speak, Alastor shoved the barrel of the Model 10 into it. 

"Shh shh shhh.... no talking. No no, let me look at those doe eyes a bit longer. Angelo darling, come here." He cooed out to the man, like a mother consoling her crying children. Angelo rose and made haste to his husbands side, resting his head on the man's sturdy shoulder. 

As soon as Angelo grabbed Alastors hand and interlaced their fingers, Alastor pulled the trigger. Blood and brain matter splattered all over the cream walls of the dining room, covering both men in blood. Fat Nuggets squealed loudly outside, and Alastor pulled his lover into a blood stained kiss, his bloody hand leaving a hand print on the back of Angels white shirt. The body thudded to the ground, and Alastor knelt to it, pulling the bill he gave him earlier out of the mans pocket.

"Thank you for holding this for me, deer."


	3. Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boys arrange a family dinner, in which Molly brings her own guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a HUGE shoutout to MikaMikaMikaela for their wonderful drawing of Angelo, which is now my phone wallpaper!!
> 
> I'm so sorry for the lack of updates! I've been super busy with school and work, but with my hours cut i should be able to update more!

"Alastor! To what do I owe the pleasure of your business? Got another buck to sell?"

The butcher welcomed him warmly, walking over to the counter to greet him. Alastor smiled at him, returning the warm feeling. "No, actually here to buy something!" He chuckled, leaning a bit on the counter. "How have you been, Samueal? Got any fresh cuts? Hows the missus?"

"Oh Lil's been just swell, yanno? And as for fresh, whatcha lookin' for?" He flipped through some notes for todays delivery. 

"Oh anything, the missus is makin' a whole mess for th' family comin' by tonight." His face twisted into an overjoyed smile, Samueal having his suspicions on the 'missus' Alastor always talked about. He had worked with the man for years, and never seen him with a woman.

"I'll throw ya together a mixed bag then. Got some family comin' by?"

"Oh sure, the Missus's mom and sister, an' my ma are comin' by!"

Samueal had begun throwing meats on a scale. "Y'know, if y'just went along an' married my Charlie-!"

Al silenced the man with a hearty laugh "Yer always blabberin' about if I married Charlie. Do ya want her marrying a good man, or d'ya just want me in yer family that bad!"

Samueal was older than Alastor by a long shot, his own daughter about Alastors age. Charlie and Al had known each other since childhood, though not particularly close. He had begun working at the butchers when he was in highschool, and stayed until the radio station opened up.

The two men chattered, and soon enough Al was hurrying home to his 'missus'.

"Ma! È così bello vederti! Dov'è Molly? Sta arrivando giusto?" Alastor watched lovingly as his husband had thrown open the door to embrace his mother, Marilyn, hurrying the aging woman inside. He wiped his hands off on his pink apron- this one holding a heart on the bust of it- and gestured for the woman to sit in the parlor. "Oh! Alastor dear, will you entertain Ma while I finish up in the kitchen?" 

"Mio figlio, let me help! Your sister will be along shortly, shes.. bringing someone though." Marilyn spoke seriously, though her tone had been light. 

"Someone? Has she gotten a-"

"No, Angelo. She didn't want to say anything, sai come sta, but I felt you needed to.. prepare."

Angelos face shifted to one Alastor rarely saw. His joyous eyes were switched to seriously calculating ones, unlike any he had seen before he met the man. His whole aura shifted, and it was the first time in awhile he looked out of place in a dress. He looked like he belonged in a suit with a tommy gun.

"Ma, whos she bringing?" he spoke just as seriously as she, locking eyes with her. Alastor sucked in a breath, he both loved and hated Angelo like this. He loved how assertive he looked, how he could burn the world with a word. He hated that it always meant bad news.

"Angelo, please mind your temper. She's bringing Nicholas." Marilyn kept eye contact with her son, who was clenching his fists. Alastor went to his husbands side and took his hands into his own, his voice a calming melody cutting through the tension. 

"Pardon, but who is Nicholas?" he rubbed a tan thumb over the pale fists in his hands, as they clenched tighter. Words hissed through pearly whites fushed the gash Alastors melody had caused, the tension bubbling once more with "My ass-kissing backstabbing traitor of a brother."

"Angelo, you know he misses you! You cannot be so angry with him-" Marilyn was calm, trying to soothe her wrathful son

"I can be! He went an' ratted me out t'dad-"

"He is blood-"

"AND SO WAS I! HE STILL TURNED ON ME-"

"HE IS THE ONLY REASON ME AND MOLLY ARE HERE ANGELO! DO NOT SHOUT AT YOUR FUCKING MOTHER!" 

Light blue eyes where staring at the older woman in shock, doe eyes meeting her tired ones. It was rare the woman yelled, much less _swore_. The fists in the taller mans hands had gone limp, the previous rage completely was forgotten.

When Marilyns voice sounded again, she sounded exhausted. Years of loss and secrecy had aged her, lying to her husband where she was taking her daughter, losing her son to be thousands of miles away. Her husband and her child at war with each other, it was too much. She spoke wisely, her words emroidering themselves into the tension like a pillow.

"Your father is asking questions, Angelo. Who keeps calling from Lousiana, who do me and Molly keep seeing. He sent Nicholas with us this time to find those.. Deermen. Ask them questions, see if we can get in buisness with them. But to also keep an eye on what we're doing. He didn't _have_ to tell us he's watching out for us. He _misses_ you, Angelo. His brother that he taught to shoot, he cleaned the cuts on, who annoyed him and who he tormented. Please, for my sake... Let him be forgiven, for one night.." A tear fell from her eye, a carbon copy of her sons, and she leaned on the doorframe seperating the parlor and kitchen. 

Pale hands where taken from tan ones, and soon where pulling the woman into a hug. He placed a kiss on her cheek, and used his thumb to wipe her tear away. "For you, mama. I'll give him tonight." 

Warm smiles were exchanged as another knock rang, Alastor going to open it, so as to leave the mother and son in their touching moment. He smiled widly upon seeing it was his own mother at the door, and soon a french scene mimicked earliers italian.

the house was something out of a picture show, the mothers and Angelo pushing Alastor out of the kitchen every time he stepped in, reduced to standing in the doorway to hold a conversation with them. The three in the kitchen where all chittering to each other about food and culture, spousal customs and the such. It was rare for Marilyn to see Lydiane, but the two women always got along splendidly. Lydiane's french-cajun accent always clashed with Marilyns thick Italian one, but they more or less understood each other. To the outside eye, it looked like older, female clones where bustling around the kitchen. Lydiane's skin was only a shade or two darker then Alastors bronze, her deep- brown hair and hazel eyes passing on to her son. Marilyn was just as short as her son, with dirty blond hair dusting her shoulders, a hairstyle her son copied in a much choppier style. She spoke gently to combat Lydiane's bluntness, the two women a yin and yang.

"Marilyn y'poor gal, how'd'ja raise three of the bastards?! Al was such a good child an'I still had my hands full!" Lydiane laughed lightly as she stirred a pot on the stove, having hijacked the twos stove and kitchen for the nth time that year, Lydiane only living a mile or two away. 

"The secret, Lyddie, is t'accept em no matter what!" Marilyn smiled widely and pinched Angelos cheek as he placed a loaf of garlic bread on the table, letting out a 'hmph'.

A knock at the door stopped the younger blonde, freezing in his place as his mother placed a reassuring hand on his back. Alastor opened the door once more, only to be mauled to the ground by a bubbly young woman. 

"ALASTOR ITS SOOO NICE T'SEE YOU AGAIN!!!" she squealed, hugging him tightly. A taller man stood behind her, a thin cigarette between his lips and his hands shoved in his pockets. He was by far the most overdressed, a full suit donned that told Angelo he was certainly coming back from business. He looked like Angelo more then Molly did, his dirty blonde hair buzzed into a professional style, icy blue eyes holding more seriousness and a posture of discipline. 

"Molly! It's been too long, my girl!" Al laughed as he hugged her back, still on the floor. The man behind them spoke up, gruff voice shaking Angelo from his freeze. 

"God Molly, 'ave some class 'fore y'go maulin' a guy." 

Molly huffed and got off Alastor and helped him up, crossing her arms. "What, I can't be excited to see my amaazing brother in lawww??"

He snuffed the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe, chuckling. "My lord, if I ain't know he was a queer I'd think you where screwin' him."

"Nicholas, that is my _husband_ yer talkin' about. What, is yer mouth as vulgar as yer work now?" Angelo shot to the man, and a hush fell over the kitchen. Everyone watched in horror as Nicholas stalked in and located his brother, who stood straight up and stared him down. Lydiane and Marilyn exchanged glances, Lydiane having heard of Nicholas during the wedding. Marilyn spoke softly, a hushed 'Boys....' in a scared warning tone, as Molly backed up. Alastor watched in shock as accents he hadn't heard left his lovers mouth, words he never expected his darling to say. 

Nicholas stood face to face with the man he hadn't seen since he was twenty three, his own brother. Angelo was toe to toe with the man who betrayed him, who told his father about his sexuality, who he hadn't seen since he was seventeen. 

"Th'fuck did you just say to me, pipsqueak?" Nicholas spoke gravely, Alastor stepping forward to protect his husband, only for Molly to grab his arm and keep him in place. 

"I _said_ " Angelo glared at his brother, an inch taller then him. "Thats my husband yer talkin' about. Is yer fuckin' work as dirty, disgustin', an' gutter dwellin' as yer fuckin' mouth?" 

Nicholas had eyes to kill, suddenly shifting into a totally new expression.

He pulled his brother into a bear hug, and the room let out a breath none of them thought they were holding as Angelo returned the hug. 

"Ya fuckin' prick, y'ain't changed a bit!" Arack spoke as gleefully as one would expect, Angelo laughing as he slapped the back of his brothers head and kissed his cheek "And you, you glorious bastard! You went int'the buisness jus' like ya always wanted!" 

There was a joy in his voice that surprised everyone, but no one more than Angelo himself. He was overjoyed to see his brother, to have his brother in his home. Lydiane wrapped an arm around her son, whispering to him in french. 

"Les Italiens aiment vraiment s'embrasser. il a l'air si heureux."

her son responded in a hushed tone, easily drowned out by the italians overlapping each others voices in their native language. 

"permet de voir comment cette soirée se déroule."  
_lets see how this evening plays out._


	4. Family Dinner 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is part two of three for this chapter oops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so long i am sorry  
> update: i changed Arackniss's name to Nicholas, and changed some grammer!

The girls had kicked the boys into the parlor fully now, Molly replacing Angel.

“But Mols, its _my_ kitchen!” He had argued with a smile, only for her to pout and cross her arms. “Yeah, and _you_ are gonna give us all food poisonin’!”

Nicholas chuckled as soon as she went into the kitchen with the mothers, leaning back and sipping from a flask. He had sat in their single-person chair, the lovers lounging on a loveseat. 

“Y’still try’t cook? I thought y’married a cajun for their cookin, donnaiolo. Y’ain’t killed ‘im yet?” he laughed gruffly, turning to Alastor, whos shoulder was occupied by Angelo’s head. “How you ain’t dead? Stomach o’steel?”

Alastor looked puzzled, looking to his brother in law. “Whatcha mean, ange araignée cooks better then anythin’ i’ve tasted.”

The look of shock on the older brothers face was genuine, looking to his little brother. “You poisoned him too much! Your over-boiled pasta has made his brain soft, he thinks you cook well!”

Alastor watched in confusion as his gentle, docile husband spat back with the skill of a hardened criminal. 

“My pasta may be over-boiled, but at least I don’t put _salt_ in the _cannoilis_. I’m surprised you can shoot straight with how much Ma got the wooden spoon over yer cookin’!”

Even more confused, Alastor tried to imagine his sweet and mild-tempered mother-in-law hitting her kids with a wooden spoon.

“Donnaiolo, essere nelle nuvole.” Nicholas flicked his chin towards Alastor, Angelo waving his hand in front of Al’s face. “Helloooo.. Earth to Al!” he giggled out.

He snapped back to reality, shaking his head slightly. “Ah, Nicholas, why do you call Angelo that?”

“Eh? What, donnaiolo?” he questioned, and the brothers laughed when Alastor nodded. 

“Sweetheart, it means like.. Playboy. A flirt. He’s called me that for years.”

“Jeez man, what did’ja do t’my rootin’ shootin’ little shitstain brother?” Nicholas seemed weirdly comfortable around the two, unbeknownst to the duo he had spent _years_ regretting what he had done.

Alastor’s brow rose quizzically. “What on earth do you mean?”  
“Donnaiolo used t’be so goddamn vulgar, worse than me! Now hes playin’ housewife when there’s an open bounty right in his backyard!” 

It was Angelos turn to be confused, questioning his brother. “An open bounty? Fuck is you talkin’ ‘bout?”

Alastor made a mental note to tell Angelo how.. ‘Nice’ his natural accent sounded.

“The deermen, cock-for-brains. Vox put out a huge bounty awhile ago, an’ now Pop wants t’get in buisness with them.” 

Alastor kept his composure, Angelo however flittered in his lap anxiously. He began picking at his nails, not looking at his brother. 

Nicholas’s serious tone returned, his voice hushing. “Angelo, what d’ya know.”

“Nothin, I ain’t know shit.” he mumbled, leaning into Al as a strong arm pulled him close. 

Nicholas leaned closer to the two, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice was no-nonsense, his face stone cold. “Look, if yous twos know anythin’, y’need t’tells me. This ain’t about Pop, this is about a business _you_ might be inher-”

He was cut off by a shush, shooting his brother a death glare as Molly entered, a bottle of whisky and three glasses in her hands.

“Oh continue yer yappin’, I’m just here t’make sure yous don’t go in’t the kitchen fer drinks!” She smiled and placed the bottle and glasses on the endtable, Angelo still glaring at his brother. Alastor took no notice as he thanked his darling sister in law, a sister in his own eyes.

“Alastor, I’m going to talk to him in Italian, okay?” Angelo looked to his lover, a serious look on his face aging him a few years. Gone where the laughs that rang like a windchime through their little house, this was a new experience for the radio host. 

“Alright, my dear.” 

Angelo pulled himself into a sitting position off Alastor, mirroring his brothers crouched position with his own stiff one, one leg crossed over the other with scarlet fabric draping over him elegantly. Alastor was so caught up in looking at his partner, he barely registered the talk between the men.

“Non sa molto del business. Non conosce il mio ruolo o la tradizione siciliana.” he spoke his words casually, neither of the french parties catching on to anything amiss. Lydiane noticed Marilyn stiffen up mid sentence, and caught from the corner of her eye as Molly froze.  
Business talk had started.

It was like a switch had flipped, Lydiane thought. The two women’s laughs sounded just a little too light, like they were trying to counter a dark atmosphere. Molly had begun fussing about the table set a little too much, setting the places in a much different arrangement. Marilyn began rolling her conchiglie more intently, her conversation not hiccuping once. Suddenly they where like a perfect little family, too perfect. She had been cooking with these women since about noon, what happened? In the past two hours, they hadn’t acted like this once.

“Marilyn, what devils gotcha soul?” She pondered, one hand on the counter near Marilyn's pasta dish, other stirring her gumbo still.

“What do you mean, Lydiane?” She smiled at her friend, just a little too warmly. Her eyes where full of anxiety.

“You an’ya brat, y’all actin’ like a machine with too much oil. Whats gotten ahold’a ya?” she drawled.

Marilyns was silent, a stiff whisper coming from behind Lydiane. 

“The men are talking buisness.” 

Lydiane’s head tilted, turning to the young woman behind her. “Yeah, and?”

Marilyn spoke up now, placing a wrinkled hand on her friends shoulder. “Lydie, see.. DiMarcos, we run a.. Well, an _unconventional_ buisness. My husband began it, when we moved to America from Italy. When Nicki was still clinging to his fathers coat, and when my god-given twins were still infants.” She pinched Molly's cheek, who smiled genuinely.

“When the men talk business, the women must not upset them.”

A fire flickered in Lydiane’s chest, her own hands flying to Marilyns hand on her shoulder. She clasped her hand on her own, looking the elderly woman in the eye. 

“Marilyn, you ain’t just setpeices! You a part of the family too, why ain’t they talk to you about it-”

“Lydiane, because we don’t _want_ to be part of it!” Mollys voice raised a small bit, flicking her head back to check on the two chatting men. She turned back to the woman, whispering once more.

“Theres blood on my brothers hands, and I don’t want any part of that! I’m content with staying out of it..”

Marilyn spoke now, trying to explain what Molly had meant. “We have the luxury of being able to stay out of it. My husband, he says its his business, and I don’t stay in his business and he’ll stay out of mine. My poor Angelo.. He will have to join it at some point, and I just hope your Alastor stays out of it. He’s too sweet for that work..” she smiled weakly to the other woman, having accepted her and her childrens fate many years ago.

“My Alastor married int’... What did my boy marry int’?!” concern laced her voice, her eyes flickering to her relaxed son sipping whisky in the parlour.

Marilyn followed her sight, her own eyes settling on her two sons, talking of a fate she knew long ago would fall on them, unable to save them. She thanked god for the sight of her boys, unsure how long this would be possible to see.

“He married someone who could keep him safe.”

In the parlour, the men held their conversation. Alastor poured all three glasses of whiskey, passing them to the conversing men, who thanked him.

“non glielo hai detto? Angelo, l'hai sposato e non lo hai avvertito di cosa verrà?!” Nicholas spoke angrily, his words whispered.

“Non mi aspettavo di sposarlo, Arack. E una volta sapevo che avrei …” he trailed off, glacing to the floor, then back to his brother. “una volta saputo, non pensavo che questo mi avrebbe seguito.”

Arackniss sighed and leaned back, sipping from his glass. He spoke in english finally, confusing Alastor.

“Y’name is still DiMarco, right?”

Angelo nodded, sipping from his own drink. 

“Then it’ll still follow you.”

Mollys outburst floated into the parlour, words unintellagable. Nicki shot a side glance into the kitchen, Angelo not even paying mind, knowing she was safe.

“What devious things are you two chittering about?” 

Al’s voice was a tone offset, his cheery one interupting their serious one. Angelo replied to his husband as his father always did to his wife, much to Arackniss’s pride and worry.

“Nothing, darling. Just business. Family things.”

“Devi dirglielo alla fine. Sei l'unico di noi a sposarsi. Non capisco il punto, e Molly è sicura che la merda non diventerà il don.” 

“She might not, but is it so selfish to think that I could have gotten away from all this shit?!” He hissed his own angry whisper, rough hands rubbing up his back soothingly.

“We both know how running ends. But, so as not to spoil Ma and Mollys visit, we can talk about something different.”

“Thank G-”

“What do you know on the deermen?”

“You’re a fucking bastard.”


	5. Family Dinner: The Final Section

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the Family Dinner section! The story will be continuing!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! Alot of things have come up in my personal life that took me away from writing, but I should be starting back up again!

Angelo sighed, leaning back into the couch.

“Nicki… We both know if I say anything, legally that means I know too much.”

Nicki nodded slightly, and crouched on his knees further. 

“Well, hypothetically, if you knew anything about them, what would you know?”

Alastor looked his husband in the eyes, piping up. 

“If we knew who they were, one wouldn’t compromise names so fast. What do you hypothetically need from them?”

It was the addition of a third voice that made the Sicilians falter for a fraction of a second, before each of their moves went back to their calculated routine. It was Molly who spoke first, the maiden muttering to the mother in murmured menage muddle. 

Her voice was but a whisper, as if any louder and she would hear her father's voice calling from the parlour. 

“Alastor shouldn’t be speaking…” her voice was from practiced concern, a fear of tradition that was beaten into her by that bastard begetter her mother was married too.

Marilyn hissed softly to her daughter, her words gentle in tone and placing, but the meaning all too serious. 

“Molly, enough. Alastor _is_ his husband. Even your father asked me for consultation, occasionally.” 

Lydiane watched the two work flawlessly as they spoke, to an outside eye nothing was amiss. “If yer Angelo is part of it, m’Al will be too. He would follow that boy t’th’ends of th’earth.”

She tried to match their casualty, failing to do so as her tone came off too seriously, disrupting the aura the women had perfected over years of eavesdropping on the DiMarco ‘business’.

“Lydie, I do think your boy will do mine some good. Mi figilio… My son is too emotional, he carries his actions with his heart. Your son would think an action through. Those two would be unstoppable…”

“What _would_ we know, cervo?” Angelo mused, relaxing onto Alastor’s shoulder once more and gazing into the deep hazel of his life-long love. 

“Well…” the man began, wrapping his arm around the young man draped across him. “I would know that the deermen are two people. And I would have known that one of the deerman changed his name when he was kicked from his home. If, of course, I knew anything about them at all.”

Nicholas swirled his glass, watching the liquid swirl with it. “If you knew anything, would you know if they would be willing to do business?”

“I wouldn’t know. Angelo, would you?” he looked down towards his husband, interlocking their hands, wedding bands glinting in the light.

“Would the deermen being doing business with Pop?”

“Pop would show them utmost respect. Enough for him to even take a disgraced child back in, if one of them were. They would have Pop in the palm of their hands.”

The discussion was cut off by Lydiane calling out that dinner was ready, the men all rising. Alastor watched as his husband stood, leaving an imprint of the serious man on the couch like a shadow; he was his bubbly and typical self now, pulling Alastor up comically.

After graces were said- and Alastor and Angelo eyed each other for their sins- food started being put in rotation.

There was a tension between Lydiane and the diners at the table, uneased by the cavalier of unspoken words and things untold. Of course, it didn’t go unnoticed by Alastors keen eye, or Nicholas's aware one.

But by all god, Nicholas wasn’t going to ruin his mothers visit. He wasn’t sure how many she could get in any more. If not for her husband's suspicion, but for her age.

Alastor shot his mother a sly look, a promise to tell everything as soon as he knew himself.

On the surface it was the picture of a happy family, with pleasant manners and conversation. But like a piece of embroidery that adorned the maroon walls in a frame, the beautiful picture was a mess of strings and hidden ties. 

Nicholas was unaware of his brothers longing to go home.  
Molly was unaware of Nicholas’s wish to leave the business to Angelo, even if he hadn’t followed tradition.  
Alastor was unaware of what that business was, and of just how much blood was on his husbands hands.  
Angelo was unaware of Lydianes suspicion.  
Marilyn was unaware her son-in-law had any blood on his hands.  
Lydiane was unaware that she was the only beating heart in that room that hadn’t silenced someone elses. 

But on the surface, the image was beautiful. The perfect picture of a young marriage. Alastor silently mused to himself, over his glass of wine, about what his guests would have thought if they knew a man had sat in his chair just the night before, and that man was shot dead in this very kitchen. And that thought only made him eat more, to the Italian families delight.


	6. Ring Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angelo Remineces in two ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry this took so long, and its so short!! Depression has been kicking my ass, but i present: this shit!

The inky black of the phone was a blot on the soft, olive palm of the nervous DiMarco. 

He had to call his father. _His_ father. And his father was _expecting_ the call.

But not from him.

Nicholas had taken his mother and sister back to New York a week ago. For a week, he was debating actually making this call.

Nicholas was telling Henry that he found the Deermen, and that they would be calling before the week was out. It was his final day to call. He sat where he had been for days, in a chair by the phone, his legs crossed and one hand holding the phone. 

Alastor stirred in their king sized bed, reaching out to icy scarlet-silk sheets. So, Angelo was still at the phone.

He had been paitent with his husband, through the whole endeavor; he could see how his husband was aching, torn between a longing for a full family, and the wrath of the man who hurt him.

He sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed, slipping on his burgundy house slippers and standing to slip on the matching robe. It had been a gift from Angelo last christmas, emblazoned with his name on the chest.

He didn’t stop at the phone room on his way to the kitchen, a break in the week long routine that shocked Angelo slightly. Alastor did, however, come to his waking love with a cup of coffee in each hand. As Angelo put the phone down gently and sipped his coffee- made just right, just for him- did he finally clear his mind. 

It was the soft look in Alastors eyes that made this morning different. He was content with his husband, and welcomed every action without question. He was waking to an empty bed while Angelo was contemplating a decision for the both of them. It happened rarely, did Angelo have such a realization. It was the same feeling he felt as he felt Alastors hands in his, when he swore ‘I Do’ and it snapped in his head that he was no longer alone; that someone cared for him as he was, not as the mob son or a nice ass to look at.

It was the creases of his smile that reminded him of his wedding as well, his burgundy robe resembling the hue of his wedding tux. His soft touch that reminded him of the day after, of the morning of their honeymoon and the lingering warmth of each other after they woke up. 

And it was the blood beneath his nails that reminded him of the first time Alastor saw him kill. 

When someone got too suspicious and sent an officer to check the house for “sexual deviants or sexual predators”, a pigs latin for Homosexual. Of saying drag queen, of gender nonconforming. 

When Angelo panicked, and lunged a knife into the heart of the police officer. How Alastor sucked a breath as his husband stood panting over the man fighting to hold his life, bloodspray on his face. 

When Alastor walked next to his husband and applauded the stab, assuring Angelo it wouldn’t tarnish a cut. When Alastor ended the man's misery with a shot to the head.

It reminded Angelo of the next morning, when his husband asked if the body in the deep freezer could be cooked. Angelo had nervously tossed it into the pan, unsure if it would even go well with pancakes. Alastor had accepted Angelos quirks and Angelo to Alastors. 

It occured to the man he had been staring into his coffee for awhile now. 

“My Angel, I’m going to work my love.” 

His voice was soft as he leaned down and kissed his husband on the cheek, pulling his hat on. 

“Alastor. I’m going to call him today.” He replied to his husband, his tone lighter yet flat.

“Whats changed today, my Angel?”

“I remembered the world doesn’t matter, so long as I spend my life with you.”

Angelo spun the number with practiced ease, a cigarette in his other hand. He lifted the stick to his mouth, feeling the smoke enter his lungs as it rang. 

_“Henry DiMarco speaking.”_

Angelo gripped the phone a bit tighter, holding himself steady as he blew the smoke our his mouth.

“Hello, Mr.DiMarco. I heard you had a deer problem.”

_”Tha’ sounds abouts right. Where’d’ya hear that?_

“From Nicholas, who came to me looking for an exterminator.”

He knew the lines in this play, he watched his father recite it his whole childhood. For once _he_ was the important one daddy had to talk to.

_”My boy found a good one, then. Might I be privvy t’ya name? If y’intrested in bein’ on payroll, that is.”_

Wow, his father jumped straight to the get. Nicholas was right, the business is going to shit. 

“Mr.DiMarco, you must be aware that we live a very… unconventional, lifestyle. Eccentric deer hunters, y’see. If yous are lookin’ f’a good deer exterminator, y’must accept it as is.”

 _”Listen, I ain’t give a shit how you live, so long as you do as y’paid t’do.”_ he sounded annoyed now, a gruff tone that Angelo got shivers from.

“Which will be?”

_”Exterminatin’ certain deer.”_

“As Nicholas told. Me and my partner have talked it out, and have agreed t’accept y’offer.”

_”Perfect. Glad t’do business witcha. An’ y’name?”_

_“Mr. and Mr. Anthony DiMarco.”_

_He flinched slightly at his old name, the one his pig of a father branded him with, and the one he ditched in the streets of West Village._

_And it was a moment before the voice returned, gruff and soft._

__”Son?”_ _


	7. New York Yinyang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a mafia wife, you tend to lose your morals.

“MARILYN!”

The girls sitting in the parlour looked up from their activities, Marilyn had been knitting and Molly was polishing her Smith and Wesson.

“SI, HENRY?” Marilyn didn’t even stand, the tone of her husband of thirty years not phasing her. She was used to this by now, and prepared for the worst.

Molly, on the other hand, still shook slightly when she heard it. She was protected from Henry, her mother and brothers trying their best to keep her from his hand.

His thudding footsteps soon flooded their ears, throwing the door open. He stood in the doorway with a glass in his hand, a grave sign. A drink before noon meant that anyone who got in his way was screamed at, Luigi Largo-style. 

“Marilyn, why is my fuckin’ _son_ callin’ me?” his words where sharp, knives trying to peirce a defense Marilyn had built up in the thirty two years the couple had been together.

Molly stared at the ground, trying her best to continue working their perfect routine. 

“I don’t know, darling. Maybe because you pay him?”

“It ain’t Arackniss, Mari. Why is _Anthony_ callin’ me from goddamn Louisiana, sayin’ ‘e’s the guy Arackniss saw. ‘Ave you known about ‘im? Where you LYIN’ t’me?!”

He was standing in front of Marilyn now, who slowly rose. She looked her husband in the eyes, eyes she loved so dearly once. Her voice rose little above a whisper, a play she perfected a decade ago when dealing with her husband.

“You told me, when you threw _my_ son from our home, the home you _raised_ him in, that you never wanted to hear from him again. You also, that night, told me you couldn’t care less what I do about him, and you didn’t want to hear about him again. Have I lied to you, or followed your instructions.”

About four hours later, Marilyn was watering plants outside when the local florist waved to her to stop. She stood and took her gloves off, smiling fondly at the man.

“Marilyn!”

“Well hello there dearie! What brings you around here?” She eyed the bouquet in his hands, confusion furthered when he handed it to her.

“These are from your husband! He told me he apologizes for his behavior, and he wishes for you to join him for dinner tonight!”

She smiled widely and admired the flowers in her arms, her favorite lilies adorned with white spidermums.

She chittered with the florist for a time, before going inside and cutting the flowers down. She was arranging the flowers when the sender themselves walked into her kitchen, hanging his hat on the hook. 

“Oh Henry, thank you.. These are so lovely.” She smiled widely, not turning back to look at him. She soon felt his hands wrap around her waist, the bulky man leaning into her slightly. She chuckled lightly as he pressed a kiss to her cheek, speaking to her softly. 

“I’m sorry I was angry about Anthony... Y’have t’understand, thats years of doin’ somethin’ y’told me nothin’ about.. Y’coulda gotten-”

“You know I would never get hurt, my love.”

“Y’coulda gotten _lost_ , Mari-bella. You and Molly can barely navigate…”

“I just had to see _our_ son..”

She relished in these soft touches, a side of Henry she barely saw. 

Henry and Marilyn where a yin and yang. 

Henry rarely was as soft as his wife, gently brushing her graying hair from her face as she turned to face him. 

Marilyn was rarely as violent as her husband, but as decades of being the mob bosses wife will teach you, she brushed her fingers through her husbands jacket to slyly steal his concealed gun. 

Yes, they were very much a Yin and Yang. Marilyn took longer to forgive then her husband, but her husband was more honest about when he’d forgiven someone.

She hadn’t forgiven him just yet. But love is a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not take this as Henry or Marilyn being ooc. Marilyn is not a perfect uwu pure wife, and Henry isn't a hard-core killer all the time. These are people, not mary sues.


	8. To Sicken A Sinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor eats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! I'm sorry this chapter is so short, and for a lack of updates! My mental health has been going really, really down hill, and I haven't had much time for anything. I recently lost one of my closest friends who was like a brother to me, and with that my friend group split. I'm very sorry this is so short. However, there will be more soon!  
> Please stay safe during these hard times!

The house was still, when Alastor entered that night. Weary from work, he placed his hat and coat upon the rack, and tucked his cane away. A note was left for him on the table, to which he scanned the cursive pen of his husband's handwriting.

_”Alastor,  
I’ve gone to Cherrys to assist her, as Mr. Pentious has fallen sick. I will return two hours after the end of your radio show. Dinner has been stored in the oven for you, I hope it makes up for my absence.  
Te amo, mio cervo.  
Angelo”_

True to his word, within the oven was a small bit of meat and sauteed vegetables for him, still warm. He held no issue with his husband leaving, though he did miss him already. He would be home in an hour, and yet Alastor found himself unable to finish the meal so lovingly prepared for him. The sight of the other end of the table being empty disturbed him more than any sin he would ever commit.

He found the silence sickening without his angels voice, or movement.


	9. Catch a Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG so i have a huge chapter written for the future, so now i just need to write to build up to it!

Soon enough, the spindly sweetheart returned home. He found his lover, his husband, the love of his life, sat in his armchair, smoking from his pipe and reading the evening newspaper. Angelo crossed the parlour to his beloved, dusting a kiss over his cheek and settling on the loveseat still nestled in the corner of the living room.

“Its nice to be home again, my darling.” he sighed softly, sounding positively exhausted.

“How is Mr.Pentious, darling?” he chittered, their evening ritual unbroken.

“Cherrys been doing all she can, but hes very ill. Cherrys been drowning in the sherry since then. I think he’ll pull through.”

“What a shame. At least she’ll inherit his lovely home, and his wealth.” he chuckled, turning the page.

“Yeah, s’pose thats true. But she does actually love the guy, I think. I mean, she even takes care of all them rugrats.” he sighed softly.

“There was a phonecall for you, while you were out.” Alastor mentioned offhandedly, standing up from his chair. “Fancy a glass of wine, cher? ‘Ve got an ahnvee for some red.” 

There it was, Alastor knew how Angelo melted when he heard the radio host voice slip away. You’d think he’d hear it more, having moved to the heart of cajun culture with the man, but it was simple; Alastor, ever the virtuoso workaholic, held his transatlantic speech as more of habit. 

The soothing words coated him like a blanket, soothing and worrying him. When his husband asked him about wine, when he would do his best to comfort him… It scared Anthony. He knew something bad was about to happen.

But, he indulged his lover.

“Mm… sure, catch me the Pinot, if you could.” he tucked his legs up under him, lounging as he bit away the anxious feeling in his pit.

When he returned with the wine, he brought the whole bottle as well.

“Angelo, my darling…” He started, taking a reserved drink.

Anxiety welled in Angelos chest, pushing by the tongue he was biting and spilling his thoughts into the open air.

“Whats wrong, darling. Whats happening.”

“Sweetheart, we have been asked to go to New York. Immediately.”

Blood red threatened to slosh over the rim of his glass, a trembling hand lifting the drink as steadily as he could.

“Or, to be exact. The Deermen have.”


	10. Where Dreams are Made Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel traverses old roads
> 
> TW FOR HOMOPHOBIA AND SLURS
> 
> (im gay myself, its not glorified. Slurs are not used haphazardly and are only homophobic.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER
> 
> I've been swamped by work and my own mental health issues, and really only found the spark to write again because I'm finally with the Love of my Life. So I have plenty ideas again <3!
> 
> In true fanfiction tradition, this is the "written in one shot in the AO3 Chapter Text box" chapter. PT 2 coming!

It had been a long, long time since Angelo had been here.

The couple took no risks, both wearing matching pinstripe suits. Alastors baring a crimson hue, and Angelos a simple black and white. It was the only one he had been able to get back from his childhood home, Molly having brought it to him years ago. 

It scared him how much he hadn't changed in the mirror.

They blended in with the swarm of people exiting the subway, two more business men in the crowd. 

They found their luck souring, as one turn down the wrong street brought them face to face with a towering unit of a man. And he glared at Angelo, recognition in his eyes.

A name left his lips. One dead in the wind, forever searching to find its owner. With it, a hand flew to his inner jacket, causing the deer to draw their own arms. 

"Why th'fuck is yer disgutin fag ass here?" he sneered, Alastor noting his eyes the same shade as Angelos.

He had never heard this voice, this way of speaking, from his husband. He had thought he knew everything about Angelo, finally, but he was learning every day with him.

"Family buisness, same as you." each word was sharp, directed to pierce the others basic morals. fucked up as they where.

"Y'here t'finally off y'r Fatha?" he laughed, aiming his gun directly at his forehead. "He specifically said you was to be hit on sight." laughs where gone, now. 

"Go ahead, shoot me. You'll be dead before ya can release th'trigger." 

"You was always a lying sonofabitch." 

Angelo watched his cousin fall to the ground, blood pouring from his wrist and chest. His gun fired, having been shot out of his hand before it could shoot Angelo.

"Ci vediamo all'inferno, cugino."

Any passerby could see how captivated Alastor was, staring at his cold and bloodsplattered husband.


End file.
